Qualms
by thesoundofasmile
Summary: Her time of hiding is over. She's taking charge. She's taking back the control that was ripped from her. The decision is hers now - stay or go.
1. Chapter 1

_Trying to get back into the swing of this writing thing..._

* * *

 **"It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then." - Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_**

* * *

"Ah, excusez-moi de vous déranger, mademoiselle, mais…puis-je m'asseoir ici?"

Emily looked up and couldn't help the slightest widening of her eyes. "Oui," she answered quickly, putting down her newspaper and locking eyes with her former team leader.

"Merci," he said quickly, taking a seat across from her. He leaned back in the chair, as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"Pas de quoi," she answered with a wave of her hand, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him.

"You look terrible," Clyde remarked with a raised eyebrow, switching into English.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, trying her best to keep her tone calm and even.

"We have mutual interests in Paris," he replied cryptically before flagging down a waiter and ordering himself a crêpe and some tea.

Emily's breath hitched in her throat as the tiniest sliver of hope formed. She had assumed Clyde hadn't been looking for Doyle. After all, he needed to hide as much as she did…he was on Doyle's hit list too. "We do?" Clyde nodded. "How did you find me?"

"Doesn't matter."

Emily's eyes hardened. "Considering I'm currently in the business of trying to avoid certain individuals, I'd say it _does_ matter. Very much so."

"We both know you're doing anything but _avoiding_ certain individuals. It's far from a coincidence I found the two of you in the same city."

Emily glared in response.

"Oh, come now darling, you didn't expect me to believe you'd sit by idly waiting for an agency to pick him up, did you?"

"How did you even know I was alive?" she asked, glancing around subtly to make sure no one was paying any particular attention to them. She needn't have worried – the restaurant was nearly overloaded with tourists, all concerning themselves with their own meals and fellow travel companions.

"Keeping tabs on my former operatives is an important talent of mine."

Emily took a moment to collect her thoughts. "You're sure he's here? I'd only heard rumours…"

"It's definitely him," Clyde said with a nod of his head, maintaining eye contact with the steely-eyed brunette across from him.

She eyed him for a moment before responding. "I want in on the takedown."

"There is no takedown, darling. It's you and me. Quick and dirty."

"What the hell do you mean there's no takedown?" Emily hissed. "The man is an international terrorist and he's not on anyone's priority list for a takedown?!" She wasn't so naïve to believe _her_ death by his hand would be cause for some organization to go after him with any more gusto, but she'd thought the string of high-profile murders in D.C. might have caught someone's attention, even if some time had passed since they had occurred.

"There are more pressing matters than a has-been arms dealer," Clyde said with a shrug. It unfortunately was very true. Doyle had slipped down people's lists when months passed with no leads. "Besides, it's been nearly a year since anyone heard from him, and even longer since your little battle with him."

Emily's hand unconsciously found its way to her stomach where the injuries from her last encounter with Ian Doyle were mostly healed, but still tender. "He needs to be dealt with."

"Don't I know it. So let's deal with him."

Emily stayed quiet as the waiter reappeared with Clyde's order. Clyde bade him a quick thanks, and watched him make a hasty exit back to the kitchen. Emily turned her attention back to Clyde. "Now?"

"What, you want to wait until he's disappeared again? C'mon, Emily. I can have the necessary equipment here by morning," he said, as he cut into his crêpe.

Emily looked around again at the mention of her name. Her paranoia and hyper-vigilance was still in full force, and hearing someone call her by her given name had her experiencing a wave of panic. "How many men does he have?" she asked cautiously.

"Nothing we can't handle."

"Clyde," Emily warned, in no mood to be trifled with.

"Maybe a half dozen or so guys, not heavily armed, and not that experienced. He's working with new, young guys looking to earn their respect since most of his remaining crew from the early days was wiped out in Boston."

Emily blinked as memories of that day flashed in her mind. Morgan's face as he pleaded with her to hold on and refused to let her go. Doyle's angry glare as he shoved the piece of wood into her gut, and then his desperate tone as he demanded to know where Declan was. The bright, fuzzy lights of ambulance as she drifted in and out of this world. The cold darkness when she'd left the world temporarily.

"Okay," she said with a heavy exhale. "You think we can do it?"

"Take out a few goons, and put a bullet between his eyes? Nothing to it. We've handled worse," he said confidently with that familiar hint of arrogance in his tone.

"Okay," Emily said slowly with a nod. She'd spent a month recuperating before deciding she couldn't sit and wait around for somebody else to deal with Doyle. So she'd kept her ear to the ground and quietly began searching him out. It had been slow at first since she was unable to use any of her old contacts, but eventually she'd caught onto his trail and had followed him, crisscrossing across Europe before finally tracking him back to Paris. Now, after over a year and a half, she'd have the chance to silence her fears and make sure Declan would be safe. Now she'd get to end things on her terms, and not his. "Let's do it," she said.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Clyde said with a smile. "It's been too long since we've suited up next to each other."

"Where is he hiding out?"

"He's holed up in an old house that's been converted for multiple tenants. It's empty except for him and his men. He doesn't have any guys with him in his actual flat, but he's got a few posted in and around the entrance to the building."

"Easy enough to deal with. Any bodies inside the building itself?"

Clyde nodded. "Yeah, a few floaters in the flat below his.

"Let me guess, he's on the top floor?"

"Right in one."

"Cameras?"

"None. He isn't expecting to be watched since he's dropped off almost everyone's radar. And of course he's still arrogant that he can't be found."

"Okay," Emily said quietly. Slowly the realization was sinking in that he was within her reach. "So what's the plan?"

"We go in tomorrow night at 2am." Emily's eyes widened in shock but she nodded in understanding. "You're sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. I'm tired of running, Clyde. We end this now. For good."

"All right. We'll go over the finer details tomorrow morning. Get some sleep. You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks. You always did know how to make a girl feel special, Clyde."

"Just a part of my irresistible charm," Clyde said, shooting her a wink and reminding Emily painfully of a certain flirtatious former partner of hers. "Shall we meet here for breakfast tomorrow?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No, let's meet somewhere else."

"Do you remember that little café Tsia took us to?" Emily nodded sadly as memories of her former teammate and close friend flooded her mind. "How about there? 9 o'clock?" Clyde suggested gently.

"Okay," Emily agreed, rising to her feet and turning to leave. She took a few steps toward the exit, but paused and turned back to face Clyde. "Is he safe?" she asked quietly, her mind overwhelmed with memories of the young blond boy that had captured her heart.

"I don't know," Clyde answered honestly. "I didn't look for him…I thought it safer that way."

She closed her eyes and nodded, letting out a breath slowly.

"But I'm betting your team's got that covered," he said quietly, watching her response carefully. He expected a nod or a smile, but she kept a neutral face, clearly having shut her emotions up tightly. "I meant what I said, darling. Get some sleep tonight, you need it."

"I'll sleep when there's a bullet between his eyes," she said firmly, her jaw tensing noticeably before she turned to leave.

"And that can't be soon enough," Clyde muttered as he watched her exit the restaurant and slip into the afternoon crowd, disappearing from his sight again, just like so many times before.

* * *

"How'd you get this stuff so quickly?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically as her eyes took in the list of the various weapons he'd managed to procure overnight. They'd met for breakfast, but Emily's paranoia at being overheard had convinced her they needed to find a place with a little more privacy to discuss the details. So they'd paid cash to a local bookstore owner to use the flat above the shop for a few hours. Emily figured Doyle and his men were less likely to go poking around in a bookstore than a pub or motel.

Clyde smirked. "Once I found him, I had a feeling you'd be up for taking him on, so I may have done a bit of pre-emptive dealing."

"I should have known," she said while shaking her head.

"Yes," he agreed. "You should have. But let's sort this out, shall we?"

She nodded and focused on the files set on the table. "So we said 2am tonight. Any changes in his security?"

Clyde shook his head. "None. He's staying holed up."

"And you're sure he'll be there?"

"As sure as I can be. This time tomorrow, Doyle won't be a problem anymore, I promise."

Emily let out a slow breath. "You're sure we can pull this off? You don't think we need more time to put together a plan?"

"It's not all that complex. We go in quietly, take out his goons, and then put a bullet between his eyes. If he had more men with him, then I'd say we wait and do a little more recon, but this is as good an opportunity as we're going to get."

Emily nodded. "Okay. What's the layout of the house like?"

"Very simple. Divided into three separate sections, but a staircase connects the three floors. Doyle's on the third floor, and his men are on the second floor for the most part."

"Can we get to the third floor without going through the house?"

"No – only entrance is using that main staircase."

"And is it possible to sneak past the second floor?"

"Theoretically, yes. But I'm doubtful – it's an old house…" Clyde trailed off.

"Ah, creaky stairs," Emily said knowingly. "Damn. So we have to take out the men on the second floor first?"

"Not necessarily. Doyle's bound to hear the creaking as well, so we just need to decide whether to work from the top floor down, or from the bottom up. So what do you fancy?"

Emily thought for a moment, weighing their options. "Doyle's the target – let's take him out first, then we can fight our way back down," she said finally.

Clyde nodded in agreement. "Right. I assume you want to do the honours?"

Emily nodded immediately. There was no question in her mind – she wanted to watch the life drain from the man who'd haunted her nightmares and caused her so much pain. She _had_ to see it with her own eyes. She had to be sure.

"So you deal with the angry Irishman, and I'll fend off the goons until you're ready to lend me a hand, yeah?"

"I guess so," Emily said as her gaze drifted around the room. It didn't quite seem real that in a matter of hours she'd be confronting her nemesis.

"I'll pick you up at your flat around 1am," Clyde said. She nodded in understanding, her gaze still drifting around the room. "You okay with all this?" he asked, looking for a final confirmation from her.

She locked her gaze with his. "We take him out tonight," she said firmly, no hesitation or wavering in her tone.

* * *

 _This one has been sitting 95% finished on my computer for a long time. I thought it was about time that I let it see the light of day. Do let me know your thoughts if you have a moment..it's appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

"You ready, darling?" Clyde asked, fixing his gaze on Emily.

"Let's get this over with already," she said quickly, her left leg bouncing in anticipation. The reality of the situation had finally set in just before Clyde had picked her up. It had sunk in that she was painfully close to being free.

"As you command. Let's move."

Emily nodded and pushed open the car door quickly. She jumped out and made her way to the trunk where their equipment was. She grabbed the small sidearm and slipped it into her ankle holster before tucking a bit of spare ammo for it into her pockets. Next, she fastened the leg holster, making sure to check the pockets for ammo before stowing the Glock she'd gotten the day she arrived in Paris in it. Finally, she grabbed the MP5 and double-checked the silencer attached to it. Deciding she wasn't willing to take any chances, she stowed some extra ammo for it in the other leg's holster before she turned to face Clyde who'd also finished outfitting himself.

"Like riding a bicycle, yeah?" Clyde said with a smirk, noting how comfortable she still was handling multiple firearms.

"Something like that," she muttered.

"You should know," he said, pausing to give her a quick look up and down, "that you're sexy as hell dressed in all black."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. Same old Clyde, but it was comforting in a way. "You ready?"

Clyde nodded. "Are you?"

"I'm good. Let's go," Emily said with a nod, her eyes fierce and focused.

Emily took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she steadied herself. This was it. More than a year and a half of isolation, of simultaneously trying to forget and desperately trying to hold onto memories of the team – of her family. Just over 19 months' worth of clinging to the shadows and shying away from human interaction, of glancing over her shoulder and cataloguing every detail of every place. More than a year and a half of clinging to any and all whispers about his whereabouts, and chasing dead-ends.

She closed her eyes momentarily and thought of everything she'd had to leave behind. Her job, her family, her life. Everything she'd worked to build after Doyle the first time around. A wave of strength coursed through her body and she opened her eyes, readying herself for the final act of their plan – a bullet between his eyes.

* * *

They'd dealt with the men guarding the entrance to the house easily enough, and had dispatched the ones in the lobby without any real difficulty. They'd even managed to sneak up to the third floor without alerting any of Doyle's men on the second floor. All things considered, their plan was going swimmingly.

Emily's eyes met Clyde's and he gave her a reassuring nod. It was go-time. Taking a deep breath, Emily stepped back and kicked the door in, holding her gun tightly as she moved forward and into the flat. She was acutely aware of the muffled noises coming from the floor below – the men from downstairs were no doubt getting up to investigate the source of the noise. She refocused on the task at hand, knowing Clyde had her back and let her eyes sweep the room, looking for signs of the man that had turned her life into a living hell. She cleared the kitchen and office before she reached the small bedroom with an attached bath. She heard water – the shower was on. Had she struck it that lucky?

She pushed open the door and moved slowly but deliberately toward the bathroom. Just as she was about to turn the doorknob, she heard a sound from behind her and immediately ducked out of the way, her instincts taking over. But she hadn't been fast enough, and she felt the explosion of pain at the back of her head.

She rolled over and found herself looking into the piercing gaze of the man that haunted her nightmares.

His eyes widened in surprise before he schooled his features. "I should have known," he said with a slight shake of his head in disbelief. An evil smile replaced his shocked expression. "Hello, love. It seems we've reached another impasse," he said, drawing her attention to the gun trained on her head.

"I hardly think so," she said forcefully, tightening her grip on her own weapon.

"No? And just how do you figure you'll be getting out of this one alive?"

She smiled. "Well, history seems to be on my side…"

"I don't make the same mistake twice, _Emily_ ," he said, putting a sickly emphasis on her name. "This time I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

"That's funny, I said the same thing about you," she replied, her stare never wavering.

He opened his mouth to reply but found himself fleetingly distracted by a strangled yell of pain from the floor below. Emily took her chance, silently praying it wasn't Clyde's pained yell that had given her this opportunity. She squeezed the trigger and watched as bullets tore into Doyle's chest, the muted sound of gunfire echoing in the otherwise silent room. His expression shifted from arrogance to shock as his body fell, and he let out a grunt of pain. His finger squeezed the trigger on his own gun, not from his intent, but from the momentum of him falling. Emily felt the bullet hit her in the vest, right on the spot where he'd branded her.

She gasped for air as the hit took the breath from her lungs. She heard Doyle gurgling as blood filled his mouth, and he struggled to breathe. She lifted herself from her position on the floor and found her hands still steady as she raised her gun and pointed it at his head.

"He'll never become what you wanted," she said evenly. "He's free of you for good now. I beat you, Ian."

His eyes widened fractionally, but he just held her gaze. She squeezed the trigger once more and watched as the buzz that courses through a living body ceased upon the bullet's impact. She fired a few more bullets into his chest for good measure – after all, she was living proof that even the appearance of being dead was far from a certain matter.

She stumbled over to him and checked for a pulse, satisfied when she found none. It was finally over. Declan could live freely, and have the chance at a normal life. She could go home. Her breath caught as images of her family flew through her mind. She was brought quickly back to the present when she heard another strangled yell coming from the stairwell and her thoughts turned to Clyde.

She ran toward the stairwell, listening intently as she heard gunfire. The rational part of her took over her impulse to act immediately. Continuing gunfire meant Clyde was still alive. Lack of thundering footsteps coming toward her meant Clyde was still alive. There was still hope for her former team leader, and if she was being honest, she probably shouldn't have doubted him. He _had_ been in worse situations and lived to not only tell about them, but brag about them too.

Peeking around the door frame carefully, Emily spotted Clyde still very much alive and, all things considered, dealing well with the goons. He'd apparently managed to take out 2 of them, leaving another 3 firing at him sporadically from around the corner of the staircase. She considered her options – there wasn't any real way for her to help him from her current position, and he was pinned down by their spurts of gunfire. She needed to get behind them.

"Hold your position," she said quickly and quietly to Clyde. "I'll be back."

Clyde just nodded. "Not going anywhere, darling." He paused to fire a few bullets toward the corner of the staircase. "Take your time," he said casually.

Emily headed back into the apartment and began looking for an alternative way out of the place. She found one in the form of a window in the office. She stuck her head out the window and peered down, pleased to find an old fire escape level with the second floor just below the window. Granted, it didn't give her an easy set of stairs down to the ground, and the metal looked less than sturdy, but it sure beat jumping straight from the third floor. Saying a silent prayer that the metal hadn't rusted to the point of compromising the structural integrity of the fire escape, she opened the window and eased herself out before dropping down onto the fire escape.

The fire escape creaked and groaned under Emily's weight, but thankfully didn't give. She climbed down the steps that hadn't been torn off, and then let herself drop to the ground below, hissing as her ankles took a further beating as they absorbed the impact. She crept quickly back around to the front of the house and scanned the entranceway for any men, relieved to find none. Emily made her way quietly up the stairs, using the noise of the gunfire to cover the inevitable creaks in the stairs.

She grinned as she saw the remaining men focused entirely on Clyde. _Too easy_ she thought to herself.

"Oh boys," she called out in a singsong voice, the grip on her MP5 tight.

As predicted, the three men turned around quickly and she took out two with two rapid bursts. The third and only remaining member of Doyle's inexperienced crew managed to avoid being hit with any bullets from Emily's gun, but wasn't so lucky with the bullets from Clyde's. Two quick shots brought him down, and had Clyde strolling down the stairs to meet up with Emily.

"I take it you dealt with Doyle successfully?"

Emily nodded. "It's over. He's dead."

* * *

 _Note: I'm not an expert by any means in armed conflicts (nor do I pretend to be), so artistic liberties have been taken in this one...as is the case in 99% of fanfiction... ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

Emily let out a soft groan as her eyes began to flutter open. She was instantly aware of a painful throbbing at the back of her head, and leaned forward slightly to allow her hand the space to examine the source of the pain. Her fingers gently drifted over a large lump and she closed her eyes, redoubling her efforts to remember what had led to the wound. The scenes she _could_ recall were fractured and disjointed at best, and didn't give her any real indication of what had transpired.

"Hello, darling. Welcome back."

Emily's eyes opened quickly and she turned her head toward the location of the voice. "Clyde," she breathed, glad to have a familiar face with her. Questions flew through her mind at a million miles a second, but she asked the one she _needed_ to know the answer to. "Doyle…is he…?

"Very much so," he answered with a solemn nod. "You put a bullet between his eyes...and a few into his chest."

She breathed a sigh of relief and let her eyes fall shut. She felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, as she felt a weight lift off of her. He was dead. He was gone. She was free.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You don't remember?"

"It's a little fuzzy," she admitted. "But that's probably to do with the whole head wound thing, I think."

Clyde nodded. "Well, best I can tell, you confronted Doyle and got a nasty whack to your head before riddling his chest with bullets and putting one between his eyes, just like you said you would."

"And his men?"

"Oh, I dealt with a couple of them in a rather efficient fashion, and then you decided to play 007 and worked your way behind them before taking two of them out. I took out the last one, and we made our way home."

"How the hell did I get behind them?"

"I'm guessing you used the fire escape and jumped down."

"Well that would explain why my ankles are killing me."

"It would," he said with an amused smile. "Well, that and the fact that you're getting old."

Emily glared at him before letting out a light laugh. "I suppose I am, aren't I?"

"How's that hard head of yours?" he asked.

It was that moment that Emily noticed the bruises scattered on Clyde's face and neck, and the bandaged hand at his side. "Hurts like a bitch," she admitted. "But it'll heal. How are you?" she asked, nodding toward his injuries.

"Nothing serious. Just enough to solidify that bad boy image you always used to accuse me of perpetuating."

She offered a weak smile before her expression shifted to a more serious one. "Clyde, I can't thank you enough-"

"Don't mention it," he interrupted. "I got you into the mess in the first place, it's only fair I helped you out of it."

Emily offered another small smile and let her eyes fall shut, exhaustion from being in hiding for over a year and a half and spending every waking moment tracking down Ian Doyle finally getting the better of her.

"I'll just leave this here," he said, putting down a bottle of water and a few small croissants on the table next to the bed. "You go ahead and sleep, Em. I'll be here when you wake up and we can talk about sorting through the necessary steps to get you back to America."

Emily's eyes opened briefly at the mention of going back stateside. Home. She could go _home_.

"If that's what you want," he added as an after-thought after a moment.

She blinked in shock. Why _wouldn't_ she want to go back? The team – her _family_ had permeated her thoughts for months, so what possible reason was there for _not_ going back? She shook her head gently and dismissed the notion that she wouldn't go back.

Clyde gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Now alone, Emily breathed in and tried to settle the wave of emotions coursing through her. Her exhale came out in shudders as the emotions she'd tried to hold in burst through the dam, and she found herself crying. She cried in relief for it being over, in frustration for the pain she'd caused her friends, in pain for everything she'd gone through, and she cried for the possibility of putting this all behind her once and for all.

But as she let herself begin to drift back to sleep she had only one thought on her mind: home.

* * *

Emily drummed her fingers impatiently on the laptop as it booted up. She watched as the logo screens appeared one after the other until finally the login screen loaded. She typed the password Clyde had provided her with and hit enter, watching as the login screen faded and the desktop appeared. She plugged in the wireless internet stick and connected to it before opening up the browser and searching for recent news from the US concerning the BAU.

In the months following her relocation to Paris, Emily had made sure to keep a close watch on the cases the team worked – at least the ones the media reported – but her efforts at tracking Doyle had made keeping up difficult, so she found herself catching up on months' worth of news reports. As she clicked through them, Emily felt her heart clenching at the memories that flooded her mind. She was all too aware of how different kinds of cases affected each member of the team, and how they usually coped with them. She could just picture Hotch spending time with Jack, Garcia meeting up with JJ for ladies' night, Morgan breaking down walls in one of his properties, Rossi nursing a _very_ expensive glass of scotch, and Reid burying his nose into literature and eyes glazing over after science fiction movie marathons.

Emily blinked in surprise when she saw a picture of JJ and Morgan escorting an unsub into a cruiser. JJ was back on the team? When had that happened? Emily's heart clenched painfully again. What else had she missed? Was Reid still suffering from his headaches? Had Morgan gotten around to finishing that one property he'd kept starting new projects in? Were Garcia and Kevin still together? Had Rossi finished his latest book? How were Henry and Jack doing? Had they replaced her with a new agent?

She kept skimming through articles, jumping from week to week, month to month, trying to get a handle on the cases they'd worked. Sparingly few included pictures of the team, so she was left guessing how they were and what they looked like. She paused as one article, dated just a few weeks earlier, had a picture of a press conference. JJ stood behind the podium, but the rest of the team was situated behind her, surveying the crowd. No doubt looking for an unsub that had injected himself into the investigation.

Emily took a moment to scan each of her former teammates. JJ's hair had grown out, but otherwise looked just as she had on that flight over to Paris. Reid had cut his hair, but otherwise the genius looked every bit as quirky and loveable as the last time she'd seen him. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi all looked just as they had when she'd left. No Seaver though…maybe that's why JJ had come back. And of course Garcia wasn't in attendance, but there was one more individual with them. So they _had_ filled her spot.

After Emily caught up to the present day, she navigated away from the news sites and to the online scrabble site she and JJ played on. She logged in and noticed it had been many weeks since she'd logged in to play. She felt a wave of guilt, wondering if she'd inadvertently caused JJ to worry. Her previous plays had been sporadic at best, but this was the longest she'd gone without playing a word. She studied her available letters and found several possible words to play, but something stopped her. Emily began to wonder if she should play at all, because in the back of her mind was that tiny bit of doubt. _If that's what you want._

The more she thought about it, the less choosing to go home seemed like an easy, cut and dry decision. There was a distinct possibility that returning would do more harm than good. Surely there would be backlash from the team for keeping such a secret – and it wouldn't just be directed at her. JJ and Hotch would be in the line of fire for that too. And it would cause pretty significant disruption to their lives, both personally and professionally. There was no guarantee they'd even _want_ her back on the team with them – hell, there was no guarantee she'd even be _able_ to rejoin the team. It _had_ been more than a year and half – in all likelihood, her spot had been filled for good. She let out a heavy exhale. Regardless, it didn't seem fair for her to cause that pain and confusion. Again.

Emily bit her lip as the possible ramifications of her return were catalogued in her mind. But in spite of all the reasons she could come up with to stay away, there was one rather compelling one for her to return home: the team. It was terrible and completely selfish, but Emily wanted so badly to be able to see them again. She wanted to be able to playfully flirt with Morgan again, or hear Reid's rambling statistics, or smile when the bubbly technical analyst did something so typically Garcia. Hell, she wanted to be able to be on the receiving end of one of Hotch's famed glares, or Rossi's passionate Italian rants. She wanted to be able to play with Henry at the park, and later drink far too much wine as she and JJ and Garcia had their semi-regular ladies' night.

 _If that's what you want._

Emily stared at the screen of the laptop, unsure as to whether to play a word or not, because for the first time in more than a year and a half she wasn't sure if going home was the logical next step. For the first time in almost a year and a half, Emily was plagued with indecision. She wasn't sure if she _could_ go home.


	4. Chapter 4

Emily stared out the plane's window at the night sky, thinking darkly how much it resembled that abyss that Nietzsche warned people against gazing into, lest it gaze back in them. She stopped herself from chuckling at that thought – she was pretty sure by this point she _was_ the abyss, given how much darkness she'd gazed upon over the years. She shifted slightly in her seat, grateful for Clyde's insistence that they upgrade to first class. The comfortable and more spacious seats were wonderful, but it was the privacy of first-class that she was most grateful for. The last thing she needed was people starting up friendly conversation with her when all she wanted was to think.

Her hands fell into their familiar habit of picking at her fingernails as her swirling thoughts turned to her impending return stateside. The weight on her chest that had settled there all those months ago had disappeared with Doyle's death and the assurance that he wouldn't, and more importantly _couldn't_ come after her or her family again. But it was all too quickly replaced by the fear and anxiety that she might not actually be able to return to the only place she'd been able to call home for a very long time.

She feared that her return might actually do more harm than good. It had been over a year and a half since they'd lost her…surely they'd moved on by now. Surely they'd found a way to keep living their lives. She _hoped_ they'd found a way to move on. Going back now would just open up those boxes containing those emotions again, and introduce a nasty new one: anger. Emily was sure there would be pushback from the team's members if they learned the secret she, Hotch, and JJ had kept from them. And that pushback was sure to disrupt their lives, professionally and personally speaking. It wasn't fair to do that to them, was it? It would almost certainly cause more pain than relief.

And if she was being honest with herself, she was a little worried that they wouldn't forgive her. She had her doubts as to whether or not they'd _ever_ be able to forgive her. The woman they'd called their friend and colleague was far from the person Emily Prentiss was. Is? Emily shook her head as those thoughts rattled around her mind, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth – regret. But no, that wasn't true. She didn't regret her actions; they'd saved the lives of the people she held dearest. But she did regret leaving them with the belief that she didn't trust them, because she _did_ trust them.

For months Emily had wanted nothing more than to go back to her old life, and erase the nasty imprint Doyle had left. Now that she was free from worrying about him coming after her or her family, that desire to return to her old life was stronger than ever. But could she just pick up where she left off? Emily shook her head sadly in reply to her own thoughts. There was no way she'd be able to pretend nothing had happened. Going back wouldn't get her how things were. It would get her how things could be. And the more she thought about it, 'how things could be' wasn't shaping up to be terribly optimistic.

"I'm sorry," Clyde apologized, interrupting her silent musing as he leaned over. "I just have to confirm that you're sure this is what you want to do."

Emily turned to face him, a pensive look on her face. She nodded once. "I'm sure. I have to see how they are. It wouldn't be fair of me to jump back into their lives and disrupt everything if they're settled."

Clyde shook his head sadly. "Don't be daft, they'll all be pleased to see you and have you back."

She shook her head. "It's not about them being happy to have me back. I've screwed up their lives enough for one lifetime…if they've made peace with it, then I'll let it be."

"And you'll do what, exactly? Just disappear?" Clyde looked at her skeptically, unable to wrap his head around the idea that she was going to _willingly_ walk away from her closest friends.

She shot him an unimpressed glare. "Actually, yes."

"Emily, you can't do that to yourself. You didn't spend all those months hunting for Doyle to just give up."

"It's not giving up, Clyde. I'll be able to live freely."

"Without the people you hold dearest," he pointed out.

"I can handle a little loneliness for their sakes."

"Do you realize how bloody stupid you sound right now? You're giving up on stitching back together the pieces of your life, because you're afraid of facing them."

"I'm not afraid of facing them," Emily protested, a frown forming on her face.

"Right. Keep telling yourself that," he replied, his frustration seeping into his tone. "But you're just doing what you've always done: running away."

Emily opened her mouth to reply but snapped it shut. There was no point arguing with him. They'd reached an impasse, as they often did thanks to their stubborn natures colliding.

Clyde let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "There's nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?" he said, his tone switching from frustration to sadness.

"No," she answered softly, turning her gaze back out the window.

Clyde shook his head. Her stubbornness and tendency to always put others first were second to none, and both were things he was all too familiar with, having worked alongside her for years. He just wished she would realize how much she deserved to be loved. How much she deserved to be with the only people she trusted wholly. How much she deserved to be happy.

* * *

"All right, darling," Clyde said as they reached the doors leading out of the airport. "This is where we part."

Emily nodded and gave Clyde a quick hug. "Thank you again. I can't-"

"Please, don't worry about it. Like I said before, I got you into it, so it's only fair I helped you out of it."

"Still, it was a lot to ask-"

"You didn't ask, I offered," he interrupted, shooting her a grin.

Emily found herself smiling in return. "Very true. Thank you all the same, Clyde."

He nodded. "You have any idea where to start looking for them?"

She shrugged. "I'll play it by ear."

"Well if they aren't on a case, I've a feeling you'll know where to find them tomorrow."

Emily frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow, Emily," he explained softly.

She blinked in surprise. "I…I hadn't realized."

Clyde gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze and handed her a slip of paper with an address and phone number on it. "Give me a call if you need anything at all," he said.

"I will," she said with a nod, taking the slip of paper and glancing at it briefly. Despite his arrogance and tendency toward poor timing, he'd been someone who'd had her back through thick and thin, and had long ago earned her trust.

"Take care, Emily," Clyde said, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "And keep in touch," he warned, "or I'll be forced to keep tabs on you."

She chuckled. "I will. You take care of yourself too, Clyde."

"I always do, darling. Always do," he said with a wink before disappearing out the doors.

Emily took a moment to button up her coat before slinging her bag over her shoulder and making her way out of the airport and into the cold. She stepped into a cab and gave the driver instructions to take her to a hotel near the address Clyde had given her. She didn't much care which one – at this point all she wanted to do was sleep in a bed that wasn't housed in a rundown European apartment. She was anxious to see how her former teammates were doing, but first she needed some time to recuperate.

She watched the familiar sights fly by as the cab wound through the streets. She couldn't help but notice the uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach. Landing in D.C. had brought up all those insecurities and the anxiety she'd tried her best to quell during the flight. Her mind began to weave possible outcomes together, and every one had her stomach twisting into further knots.

Emily didn't regret her choice to not immediately reveal herself to her former team. She had painstakingly drawn up mental pros and cons lists, done the math on how much of an emotional toll her return might have, and dug deep into herself to try and find what she ultimately wanted most. What she found was that first and foremost, she didn't want to cause more pain and upheaval for her friends – she'd done enough of that with bringing Doyle into their lives in the first place. She had realized however, that she really had no way of knowing how settled they were, or whether or not returning would actually cause upheaval. And so she resolved to get the lay of the land before making her final decision.

The cab came to a stop outside a hotel, pulling Emily out of her wandering thoughts. She offered her thanks to the driver and paid him, including a nice tip before grabbing her bag and making her way into the hotel. She checked into a single room and threw her bag on the floor beside the bed after locking the door and pulling across the chain. She took a moment to change into some sweatpants and a t-shirt before climbing into bed. She tried to let herself drift off to sleep, but found her mind still running through the possibilities of what the following day would bring.

* * *

Her phone alarm woke her from her fitful sleep at 6:15am. She showered quickly, dried her hair as best she could, got dressed, and grabbed her phone and some cash before heading down for a quick breakfast. She nibbled at her breakfast for a few minutes before giving up and wrapping the bagel in a napkin and shoving it in her pocket.

After calling a cab and giving the driver the address Clyde had written down for her, she sat back in her seat and once again watched the familiar surroundings fly by. A small part of her worried that she was thinking too much of herself. So what if it was her birthday? Why would it be different than any other day? She shook her head and banished the thoughts. She _had_ been a part of the team – of the family – for years, and she knew that they would visit her. Hotch and JJ, probably not, but Rossi, Morgan, Reid, and Garcia would.

The driver's voice brought her out of her mind and back into the present moment. She glanced out the windows and found herself at her destination.

"You sure I can't take you somewhere else, ma'am? It's a bit early…" he said unsurely, noting the distinct lack of people around.

"No," Emily replied firmly. "This is where I need to be. Thanks," she said, handing over the money to cover her ride. "Keep the change."

The driver nodded his thanks before driving off. Emily watched the cab disappear into the distance, waiting until it had disappeared completely before turning around to face the entrance. The sun had risen sometime during the ride over, and she was grateful for the little warmth it provided. Though the temperature was well above freezing, there was a cold wind that had Emily hugging her coat close to her body. She glanced at her watch and found it was approaching 7:20am. Doing a bit of mental math and assuming they kept the same schedule that they had when she was a part of the team, she figured if they were going to visit before work, they'd probably do so in the next hour, giving her enough time to find a spot to observe from.

But first she had to find her headstone. She made her way through the rows of headstones, following Clyde's directions carefully. After a few minutes of wandering she spied her name and stood in front of the grave that marked her final resting place. Emily wasn't sure how to feel, seeing her own name etched into the stone, with the Bureau's motto beneath it. She let out a bitter laugh after reading "Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity". Funny how her life had been deemed able to be summed up in three words with the words of an organization she'd worked at for less than a decade. Her stint at the FBI was just a fraction of the life she'd lived, and yet it was chosen to represent the whole thing.

She heard a car door slam and looked up immediately, feeling her heart clench as she saw the outline of Rossi's sports car. She grabbed her bag and moved quickly toward a nearby cluster of trees that would provide ample cover, but allow her to hear and observe.

Rossi's form came into view and Emily sucked in a breath. After all those hours of anxiety and worry, she was finally going to get answers to her questions.


	5. Chapter 5

_I'll be travelling for the next little while, so I'm not sure how regular the updates will be. I will try though...I promise. :)  
Now, go ahead and enjoy!  
_

* * *

It felt wrong somehow to Emily that she was going to be eavesdropping. Sure, any words that would be spoken would be intended for her to hear, but the context was all wrong. She wasn't supposed to hear them with a beating heart in her chest. She wasn't supposed to see them while breathing air into her lungs. It was meant to be private – a conversation from them to her…soul? Emily frowned in thought as she considered who or what it was they would be talking to. She shook her head slightly, banishing the thoughts from her mind. It didn't really matter who they were talking to, and really, if anyone could claim a right to hear the words, it was her.

She watched as Rossi walked toward her grave. He seemed to walk with a purpose, but not at the expense of enjoying the beauty of the scenery around them. Emily took a moment to follow his wandering gaze – it truly was a beautiful place. She supposed if she had to pick somewhere for her body to rest – never mind that she had preferred to be cremated – this wouldn't be so bad a place.

He reached her grave and stopped in front of it, a single pale pink tea rose held in his hand. He stayed silent as his gaze shifted to the stone in front of him. Emily had a hard time reading his expression, and she wasn't close enough to truly be able to read whatever clues might have been in his eyes, but then David Rossi had never been easy to figure out anyway.

He stayed that way for a few minutes, his body and his gaze unwavering, before he crouched down to place the single tea rose at the base of the stone. The action was so gentle, and done with so much care, that Emily felt moisture form in her eyes. She watched as he let his hand linger over top of the rose and press gently into the soft grass that was wet with dew.

He bowed his head and whispered a few words in Italian, before removing his hand, standing up, and making his way back to his car. Emily felt the tear slip down her cheek and closed her eyes as her heart clenched painfully. The sound of his voice had brought back so many memories, and filled her with a simultaneous sense of regret and joy.

His words echoed in her mind as she wrapped her arms around herself. _Be at peace._

* * *

Emily didn't have to wait long before the next visitor arrived. She watched as the familiar form of Reid walked toward her grave. She was curious to see if he'd say anything. The young genius' belief in the afterlife must be far from certain, given the lack of quantifiable proof about its existence. It wouldn't be strange for him to not say a word, given that he didn't believe anyone could hear it. But he always had been full of surprises…

His hair was shorter than when she'd left, and was it possible he'd grown taller? He was thinner, that was for sure, and she fleetingly wondered if he was remembering to take care of himself. He had a tendency to forget to eat when he was focused on something, a quality she'd always found amusing since it was often attributed to mad scientists as well. It seemed fitting in a way.

He had his sunglasses on – the same ones he'd worn so frequently in the weeks leading up to her departure. Was he still suffering from headaches? It wasn't _that_ bright out… Had he told anyone else? She hoped he had – he needed to have someone to look out for him.

But all things considered, he looked well. There was no haunting look about him as there had been after Hankel. There was no anger or betrayal either, as there had been after Gideon left. The only thing Emily could see was a tinge of sadness, and she supposed visiting your dead colleague's grave on her birthday might do that to a person.

Like Rossi, he stayed silent, electing instead to stare at the words carved into the stone. He stayed still, just as he'd done on so many occasions when he was thinking carefully about something. And yet you could always tell he was thinking hard about something – like his mind's wheels were making up for his body's stillness. It was a bit strange to see him so quiet, his mouth not spilling statistics and struggling to keep up with his racing mind. She wasn't used to seeing him so sombre, and so silent. Truthfully, it was a little bit unnerving.

Emily watched as his gaze drifted briefly down to the rose Rossi had left, before making its way back up to her name. After a few moments, he placed the small bunch of mismatched flowers – which she smiled at, it was so _Reid_ – down next to the single rose before turning and walking quickly toward the exit.

Emily found herself experiencing a mixture of relief and sadness. The two visits had reminded her painfully of everything she'd had to leave behind, but had filled her with relief that they'd apparently moved on. A part of her was happy that they still thought to visit her, but a part of her wondered if it was healthy for them. But then, they both had seemed okay – maybe they _had_ moved on.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after Reid left, Garcia's car – Esther, Emily remembered it was called – had appeared in the parking lot, and the bubbly blonde had made her way quickly across the path and still slightly wet grass to Emily's grave.

"Hey, Em," she said softly. "Happy birthday, my raven-haired warrior. I hear 42 is an excellent year."

Emily smiled at the blonde's typical quick and quirky talk.

"I thought about bringing you a cake, or a cupcake, or a tart, or a square, or a cookie-" she stopped her rambling abruptly as tears sprang to her eyes. "But I figured you've got all the good stuff wherever you are, so our earthly treats would just be silly to bring. Though if you loved that cheesecake from that little dessert café down the street from that bar we went to with JJ for our first ladies' night as much as you say you did, then maybe I should've brought you some of that."

Emily smiled again at the memory. It _had_ been _really_ good cheesecake.

"And then I thought maybe I should bring some good wine, or a fruity drink like we used to have on our ladies' nights. But then, again, I figured you've got an open bar wherever you are…so it would be a moot point."

Garcia paused to compose herself and wipe away the fresh tears that had fallen.

"I just…I want you to know that we haven't forgotten you." Garcia stopped as a few painful sobs overcame her. "We all think about you every single day. And I wish that you were here. But then I think about how at peace you must be in your new digs, and I wonder whether it's better that you're there rather than here, still fighting those demons."

Emily blinked furiously as tears formed in her eyes. The blonde had always had a way of seeing the good in life, and making those around her see it too.

Garcia let out a shaky breath and shook her head lightly to compose herself once more. She squatted down to place the flowers she'd brought – bright and cheerful, just like her personality, Emily noted – and gently fingered the rose that Rossi had left behind.

"I see Rossi's been here," she said quietly.

Emily's eyes widened at that fact. How could Garcia know he'd been there by just the flower left behind? How often had Rossi been visiting her grave? Or had they just crossed paths before?

"I'll have to make sure to get a hug out of him today. Reid too." Garcia paused as she rose to her feet once more. "I'm sure JJ and I will have a drink in your honour, though we haven't been able to bring ourselves to any of our usual haunts. I guess a quiet affair at Chateau Jareau-LaMontagne is in order."

Garcia paused again, letting the words linger in the air for a moment. "Hopefully my Chocolate Adonis won't shut us all out today."

Emily inhaled sharply. Shut us all out? Was he distancing himself from everyone because of her death? Was it her fault that he was pulling away from his family…from the people he'd known longer than he'd known her? Had she really managed to take that away from him?

"He's hell bent on finding Doyle, and making him pay for what he did to you. I think it's because he feels guilty he couldn't protect you. You two had always had that weird partner vibe going on – like you could finish each other's sentences and could anticipate each other's movements – and I think he feels bad that he couldn't see all of it coming, that he couldn't save you."

Emily's hand came to her mouth as she desperately tried to hold in a sob. What had she done?

"So if you've got some way of making him accept that it wasn't his fault, then I'm asking you to make that happen, Em, because I can't stand to watch him spend every waking moment trying to find and kill someone. It's not him. It's not the Derek we all know."

Garcia glanced at her watch. "I better go though. Have some new software I have to work on before I can launch it onto my babies. Bye, Em. I'll be back soon. You make sure you take care of yourself, okay? I love you, and I miss you."

And with those final words Garcia turned and made her way back toward Esther. Emily was left with an expression of shock and anguish on her face. She remembered every word of the voicemail Garcia had left her. Every change in tone, every inflection, every soft sob. It was ingrained in her memory. And she couldn't help but notice how different Garcia sounded today. The voicemail was desperation, and frustration, and sadness, and hope all rolled into one. Her visit today was sombre, and sad, yes, but it also had something else in it: acceptance. It seemed that she'd made peace, in a way at least, with Emily's death.

* * *

Emily had been surprised when her mother had shown up. The Ambassador's schedule didn't generally allow for these kind of things, and she'd never seen her mother skip an appointment. And yet there the Ambassador was, dressed in her usual impeccable pantsuit, holding a bouquet of flowers tightly in her hand. Emily's eyes drifted to the blue flowers and realized they were Bavarian gentians – her favourite. They had been common throughout her childhood, and to this day reminded Emily of all the time she'd spent with her grandfather. She could still remember clutching his hand tightly as they hiked around the area surrounding his cabin, and pulling him toward the blue flowers whenever she spotted them.

Emily frowned, unable to explain _how_ her mother had managed to procure them here in the States. The flower was native to the Alps, and Emily had been told just that when she'd inquired with a few florists to try and get some. They'd informed her it just wasn't possible to get her any. And yet…here was her mother with a bouquet of them.

The Ambassador shifted awkwardly on her feet, and Emily found herself wondering if it was because for the first time that she could recall, her mother was left speechless and unsure of exactly what to do. If she had been surprised by her mother's appearance, then the tears that trickled down her face left Emily dumbfounded. She had never seen her mother cry. Ever. Not when her husband had died, not when her father had died, and not when her daughter had almost died of a drug overdose in Rome as a teenager. Elizabeth Prentiss just didn't cry.

Emily watched as her mother gently placed the bright blue flowers down alongside the others, careful not to disturb any of them. She stood back up and wiped at the tears still falling down her cheeks. Emily wiped at her own tears, overwhelmed by the emotion her mother was showing.

Her mother took a moment to look around, as though making sure there wasn't anyone listening to her conversation. Thankfully Emily's form was hidden by the cluster of trees, but she still found it curious her mother was looking around. Did she sense her presence?

"Hello, Emily," her mother uttered softly, fresh tears appearing in her eyes. "Happy birthday," the Ambassador added, squeezing her eyes shut and bowing her head slightly.

Emily suddenly regretted all those years of painful interactions with her mother. The size of the rift between them had only grown from when she was a teenager, and every year it seemed less and less likely they would ever reconcile. And then her mother had come to her for help. For help! And if that wasn't a huge display of trust and love, Emily didn't know what was. They'd shared dinner after, and it had been a little awkward, but enjoyable. But then they'd disappeared back into their own lives, and the silence that had been in place for so long reappeared.

There was so much Emily wanted to say now, so much she wanted to ask. In a cruel twist of fate, Emily had never felt closer to her mother than she did now.

"I see your friends have been here," the Ambassador said after a few moments of silence. Her tone was almost conversational, as though she expected a response. "They miss you very much. I can see how much you meant to them. I'm glad you found yourself somewhere that you felt loved and appreciated."

The Ambassador paused to take in a few deep breaths. "I am sorry I couldn't give that to you. I wish-" she paused to swallow down the lump in her throat, "I wish I could have fixed things between us. I never imagined I'd lose you before I had the chance."

Emily felt her throat tighten, and her eyes burn with more tears. She desperately wished she could give her mother that chance.

"I…I want you to know that I loved you very much. I don't think I told you that enough, but I did. You made me so happy, Em," the Ambassador continued, sobs overwhelming her. "My little girl," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, as though trying to hold herself together.

Emily's legs began to feel weak as she watched her mother break down in front of her. It was a few minutes before her mother was able to say anything.

"I miss you every single day, Emilene," she continued, her eyes fixed on her daughter's name etched in the stone. "What I wouldn't give for one more scathing look from across the table," she added after a moment with a bitter laugh.

Emily felt a sad smile spread on her face at her mother's words. She hadn't called her Emilene since she was a little girl.

The Ambassador squeezed her eyes shut. "I was so proud of you. I hope you knew that. I know we had our differences, but I always loved you, and I was always proud of you."

Emily blinked furiously to try and stem the flow of tears. She watched as her mother breathed in a few deep breaths to try to compose herself, and found herself mirroring her actions.

"Say hello to your grandfather for me, and give him a hug from me too. I know you're in good hands with him. You two always were kindred spirits," she said with a sad shake of her head. She seemed to be trying to find something more to say, but stayed silent.

Emily found her resolve disappearing. She'd never wanted to give her a mother a hug so badly as she did at that moment.

"I miss you, Em. I hope you're at peace," the Ambassador said finally. It seemed to Emily that this visit had been something of a release for her mother. Maybe this was what she needed to try and move on.

With one last lingering look, the Ambassador turned and walked slowly back to her car. Emily's legs began to give out from under her and she leaned heavily on the tree hiding her from the world. Her chest was tight with emotion, and tears fell freely as it continued to overwhelm her. She'd never expected such an outpouring of grief from her mother.

But those final words echoed in her mind. Maybe her mother could start to try and live again now.

* * *

 _These moments with the team and her mother are what actually spurred me to write this story in the first place, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on them!_


	6. Chapter 6

The sound of soft footsteps caught Emily's attention and she peered through an opening between the trees, careful to stay hidden. Her breath hitched as her eyes spotted her former partner making his way toward her grave. He looked so much like she remembered…but Garcia's words echoed loudly in her mind, and she realized that he looked more tired than she'd ever seen him.

Emily watched as he reached her grave, tucking his hands into his pockets and slouching as he looked down at the stone. He stared at it for a moment, his eyes locked onto her name. His brow furrowed and his gaze seemed to intensify. He breathed in a deep breath and let it out quickly as he shut his eyes. He looked as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and Emily felt her stomach tighten into a knot with guilt. What had happened to Derek Morgan?

His eyes remained shut, but the expressions on his face gave away what was running through his mind. It was easy for her to read him – they'd been partners for years, and had fallen into an easy and comfortable rhythm. She hadn't forgotten his tells in her time away. He was blaming himself for her death, that much she was sure of, and she hadn't needed Garcia's words to tell her that. The pronounced creases, the slightly apologetic look, the subtle shakes of the head… It all added up to guilt. But how could he blame himself? If anything he'd kept her alive in that moment. She'd been ready to die, to let go – hell, she'd _asked him_ to let her go – but he wouldn't give up. He'd refused, his stubborn nature bubbling up just as it had so many times before.

She watched as his face relaxed and he exhaled quickly. His eyes stayed closed, but he lifted his head and angled it toward the sky. He let out another breath and opened his eyes slowly as he dropped his gaze once more.

Emily felt the lump in her throat again. He hadn't so much as whispered a word, but she felt emotion beginning to crash over her in waves. Her death had turned the protective, stubborn, playful, and good guy into a guilt-ridden, revenge-seeking shell of the man he used to be. They had been close, but Emily never dreamed her death would have this kind of impact on him.

He removed his hands from his pockets and stepped forward. He bent down, and reached out a hand to trace her name. It was an intimate gesture, and despite that it was her own grave, Emily felt like she was intruding. His gaze dropped to the flowers, and his hand ghosted over the Bavarian gentians her mother had left. His lips curled into a sad smile as a look of recognition appeared on his face.

 _"What kind of girl doesn't like roses?"_

 _"The kind who prefers Bavarian gentians, that's who."_

Emily remembered having that conversation in the bullpen one day when JJ had gotten some roses from Will for Valentine's day. He'd been surprised by her preference, and had immediately pulled out his phone and typed in a search for the flower.

 _"Bavarian gentians, huh? I'll have to remember that."_

 _"Why? You expecting to piss me off so much that you have to buy me flowers?"_

 _"Just covering my bases."_

She was floored that he remembered. It had been a fleeting conversation on a boring day in the office from a few years before.

He stood to his feet once more, and his expression softened. His mouth opened slightly, as though he were about to say something, but he stayed silent. He stared at the stone as he tried to summon the words.

"Happy birthday, Princess," he whispered finally, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed as he tried to reign in his jumbled emotions. "I miss you, girl. I'm…I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I couldn't-" he stopped abruptly as his emotions got the better of him. He took a slow, steadying breath before continuing. "I'm never going to forget you, Em. And I will get him, I swear to God I will."

Emily watched as Morgan stepped forward and placed a hand on top of the stone. He let it linger there for a moment, before giving it a gentle pat and heading back toward his car, leaving the hidden brunette alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Emily stayed in her hiding spot for another twenty minutes after Morgan left, not because she expected anyone else to show up, but because she found she couldn't move. Her mind was racing, going over everything she'd witnessed, but her body was rooted to the spot. She took deep breaths and focused on regaining her balance and standing without the help of the tree hiding her from the world.

She was torn. On the one hand, she wanted nothing more than to rejoin her family and take away that grief and sadness from them. But she knew it wasn't that simple. Things had changed in her time away. _She_ had changed in her time away. She hadn't blinked at taking Ian Doyle's life. Emily felt sick as that realization washed over her. He'd been a terrible human being, yes, but she'd still killed him without remorse. In that moment she'd _wanted_ to kill him, and that was the kind of thing that changed people permanently.

Emily had known when the CIA recruited her that her life would change. She had known that a career in law enforcement would bring her in front of the evil and monstrosities in the world. And when her assignment to JTF-12 had come up, she'd known that things would change again. After all, going undercover was the epitome of change - you became a new person in a new world, and cut all ties to who you'd been. After a childhood filled with moving around and crafting subtle changes in herself to fit into new schools and new countries, adopting a new persona was old hat. It hadn't scared her; she'd been excited at the prospect of being a part of something that was so actively fighting against the terrible and horrible acts going on.

She had known too that having to hide away for all those months from everyone she knew would change her, that constantly having to look over her shoulder and prepare exit strategies would change her. But she never imagined it would be in this way. She never imagined she'd sacrifice her principles and her morals and the strict code she'd grown used to as an FBI agent. But she had. And it left a bitter taste in her mouth, and a sick feeling in her stomach.

Emily tried to rationalize with herself that she could not have lived out the rest of her days with the threat of Ian Doyle hanging over her head. She tried to convince herself that killing him was the only way to ensure she could live again. She told herself that he'd been a horrible person, and was responsible for killing dozens of people over the years, and was sure to continue killing to get what he wanted. But her arguments were overturned as quickly as she could come up with them. She'd killed someone in cold blood, a terrorist and murderer, yes, but a person nonetheless.

And until this very moment, the moment she'd been confronted with the people who were grieving the loss of the colleague and friend they'd come to know and care about, she hadn't really cared that she'd taken his life. Until she realized exactly _who_ they were grieving the loss of, Emily hadn't regretted her actions. She still didn't, really. It made her feel an overwhelming sense of disgust with herself, but she still wouldn't take it back. It was just something that had needed to be done. But as her thoughts turned to those friends and colleagues once more, Emily began to realize that was where the problem was.

Would her family even welcome her back if they'd learned what she'd done? Could they overlook her actions? Would they _want_ to?

Would Hotch still respect her? It had taken so long to earn his trust and his respect. Would he dismiss her now that she'd stooped to an unsub's level? Or had she crossed into territory that not even he, with all his history with Foyet, could forgive?

What about Garcia, who only sees beauty in the world? Could she still look Emily in the eye if she knew how the brunette had contributed to the world's ugliness? Could she ignore the fact that Emily had committed one of the unspeakable acts she so desperately hated? Could she still greet her in the mornings with a wide smile and news of the latest cuddly pandas she'd discovered? Or would she look at her the same way she looks at the unsubs the team hunts?

And Reid, with all his statistics of law enforcement officials committing crimes and suffering emotional breakdowns, would he understand? Could he rationalize her actions? And how would he feel about her deception? Could he forgive her and move on? Or would she be another in a sadly long list of people who'd let him down?

Emily was pretty sure Morgan wouldn't condemn her for following through on the act which he was apparently seeking so fervently. But she doubted he'd be so understanding of her past actions with Doyle. She guessed he hadn't taken kindly to what she'd had to do to get close to Doyle. And Derek Morgan did not let go of things easily – they'd always had that in common. Would he be able to overlook that? Could he trust her with his life again? Would he _want_ to?

JJ knew everything. Well, at least as much as her clearance level – which was higher than the team's – allowed her. Emily wasn't sure how the blonde would feel about her ruthless kill. Emily suspected JJ might care more about her emotional state than anything else. Could the blonde welcome Emily back onto the team without wondering whether she was capable of compartmentalizing? Could she trust Emily to function effectively in the field? Or would the worry of her breaking be too much?

And Rossi, her de facto father. The man had seen it all in his life, but she suspected he would be the one to accept her actions without question. If he could step back far enough, he'd reason that she'd done what was necessary to protect her family, and take back her life. But that wouldn't stop him from wondering how strong she was. She was fairly certain he'd wonder if she was headed toward a path that he'd seen so many agents walk down. Burnout was a dangerous path to let someone walk down, and Emily wasn't sure he'd let her step back into her life if it meant a chance at walking down that path.

Emily shook her head. It was an insult to these people that she would presume to think they wouldn't forgive her. They better than anyone knew what it took to take down the evil of the world. Her mind had led her down a dangerously despondent path, leading her to imagine the worst case scenario. But she knew them better than that.

Still, her return would hurt them, and would certainly lead to a disruption in their everyday lives, personally and professionally speaking. She'd changed, and she wasn't sure she could ever go back to how things were. It would be naïve to believe that she could just continue things from the moment she left. Things were never that simple. But the question wasn't whether she could pick up where things had left off. The question was whether it was worth trying at all.

* * *

Upon returning to her hotel room, she found a message waiting for her on the room's phone. She smiled as she heard Clyde's familiar voice fill her ears.

 _"Hope I haven't ruined any level of secrecy you might've been counting on. Like I told you yesterday, that part of your life is over, so please try to relax a bit. And in that spirit, I've arranged for a rather delectable meal to be delivered to your room tonight. Eat it on your balcony, won't you? Cold or not, you could do with some fresh air. Happy birthday, my darling. And if you happen to come to your senses about…everything, give me a call and I'll have it all sorted within a week. Bye, Em."_

For a pompous, British asshole he certainly could be a big teddy bear at times. It had taken her years, but she'd managed to get underneath that snarky exterior of his and worm her way into his heart. He understood her on a level that she wasn't sure anyone else would ever be able to – but that was to be expected of the person whose hands you put your life into for years, the person who had helped you transform into someone else entirely, the person who saw the same evil. The moment you share those kinds of experiences, a different kind of bond is forged.

Emily shrugged off her coat and dropped it on the chair before dropping onto the bed. She let out a heavy sigh and rubbed her temple as she thought over everything she'd seen that morning. She let her eyes close as she became acutely aware of her exhaustion. While she'd only been at the cemetery for a couple of hours, to her it felt more like she'd spent an entire day there.

Her mind replayed every instance of each of her teammates' visits, and yet she found herself wondering how Hotch and JJ were doing. Her deception had impacted not only Morgan, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi, who believed her to be dead, but JJ and Hotch who were holding her secret. And Emily was all too familiar with the kind of things holding secrets could do to a person. It wasn't something she would've ever wanted to put on one of her friends, and yet she'd unwillingly done it to two of them.

She began to wonder what kind of weight the last 19 months' worth of deception had set upon Hotch and JJ's shoulders. Emily couldn't begin to imagine how hard it would to be to watch colleagues grieve, all while holding the knowledge that could make that grief disappear. While she knew of her friends' grief, until today she hadn't had to see in the flesh, but JJ and Hotch… How had they been these past months? Had the secret of her deception had any impact on their families?

Emily thought of Hotch – already trying to balance his work duties with being there for his son. How hard had it been for him to watch his team struggle through her "death"? And JJ – how much had she given up to fly with her to Paris? How much had she sacrificed to keep that kind of secret from her best friends? From her husband and child?

The others were dealing with the death of their colleague and friend…but Hotch and JJ were dealing with guilt and the weight of holding that secret. How had these 19 months changed them? Had they found a way to continue on with their lives? Or had Emily's past come to haunt them as well?

Would coming back do any good for them? Or would her return just bring a slew of negative emotions to the forefront? Would it be worth putting them through that? Would it be better for them to get a chance to grieve the loss of Emily Prentiss for real?

Emily paused at that thought. _Would_ it just be easier if she "died" for Hotch and JJ too? She could disappear into a new identity and live out her years with the knowledge that Doyle was dead, and her friends were at as much peace as she could give them.

It wouldn't be that hard…she could relocate somewhere they wouldn't think to look, somewhere she could disappear into a crowd and not have to glance over her shoulder. Maybe somewhere she hadn't been yet.

* * *

Emily sat on her balcony later that night – just as Clyde had suggested. The view from the hotel wasn't spectacular by any means, and it certainly didn't hold a candle to the view from her old apartment, but it was still home. She wrapped the blanket around herself a bit tighter, watching the setting sun and wondering just what the hell she was going to do.

Clyde had said she was running away. Was that what she was doing? Emily let out a light sigh as she shook her head. No, she wasn't running away. If she decided not to return, then she was making a conscious choice to continue to protect her friends, _her family._

Was it going to be difficult to leave the chance at a reunion behind? Absolutely. But was it worth that pain if it brought closure? Definitely. She'd take on that pain in an instant if it meant they could live better lives. Just as she'd run to go and face Doyle on her own to protect them, this was something she would do for them.

But Hotch and JJ didn't deserve the weight of having to continue to hold her secret from the team. It had been their family long before it was hers, and they deserved the right to not have to lie to them anymore. She didn't want Morgan to continue to live as a fraction of the man he'd been before her 'death'. He deserved to be able to live his life without that crushing weight of misplaced guilt.

Emily let out a heavy sigh as her mind continued to flip flop between staying and going. The decision was weighing on her heavily, and she wished desperately that somehow it could be easier. But all that she got was a twisting in her gut that had nothing to do with the scar there…and yet, Emily thought bitterly, in a way it had _everything_ to do with the scar there.

Go home… Stay away… Go home to friends and family… Stay away and disappear… Go home… Stay away…

Emily dropped her head into her hands and let out a heavy, bitter sigh. She had _no_ idea what to do.


	7. Chapter 7

JJ scrolled through the messages on her phone as she waited for the elevator to arrive. A few texts from Will, one from Morgan confirming their work out later that day, a couple forwarded emails from Garcia that were sure to make her shake her head, and an email from her mother requesting she bring Henry out to visit her.

"Hey," Hotch said as he appeared next to her.

"Hey," she answered as she put her phone back in her purse.

"Have a good weekend?"

"Yeah. Will and I took Henry to the zoo," JJ answered as the doors to the elevator opened.

"Bet he loved that," Hotch said knowingly before gesturing for JJ to enter the elevator.

"Of course. He's probably driving his teacher crazy with his constant chattering about it." Hotch offered a smile in return. "What about you? Get up to anything terribly exciting?" she asked.

"Not really," Hotch said with a shrug. "Jack wasn't feeling the greatest, so we stayed in and watched some movies."

"Oh, poor guy."

"I wouldn't feel too bad for him, he was a ball of energy this morning."

JJ let out a light laugh. "I'll never understand children's ability to have energy on Monday mornings."

"Me neither."

The elevator doors opened slowly, revealing a still mostly empty bullpen.

"I've got a budget meeting at 10, so could you let everyone know we'll have the briefing after lunch today? Around 1?"

"Will do," JJ said with a nod, dropping her purse on her chair and eyeing the rather large pile of mail on her desk.

She shrugged off her coat and hung it up on the nearby coat rack as she contemplated whether or not to put on a fresh pot of coffee. She glanced at the pile of consults on her desk, and the even larger pile on Blake's desk and concluded that it probably wasn't a bad idea. She'd wager that Morgan had a pretty big pile on his desk as well, so it _definitely_ wasn't a bad idea.

She grabbed the mail off of her desk and headed toward the small kitchenette, idly thumbing through the envelopes as she walked. Most of it was junk – mail-outs from conferences she'd had to attend or present at, standard letters from HR on updated practices or policies – but there were a few that needed to be opened.

After putting the coffee on, she walked slowly back to her desk, continuing to separate the junk from the regular mail. She threw the sorted mail into her perpetually overflowing inbox and turned on her computer. As it booted up, she grabbed her phone and saw she had missed a call from an unknown caller. Whoever it was, hadn't left a message, so she reasoned it couldn't have been _that_ important, and if it was, they would call back.

She opened her email after logging on to her computer and found her inbox there overflowing as well. JJ let out a heavy sigh. It was going to be a _long_ day.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked it to find a text from one of her contacts at Langley.

 _Case JG54F89 closed._

She blinked in confusion. Closed? What the hell did that mean? Her heart rate sped up as she ran through the possibilities. Case JG54F89 was the random jumble of letters and numbers that had come to represent Emily Prentiss and the mess that was Ian Doyle. Did this mean Doyle was dead? Or had something happened to Emily?

"Hey, JJ," Reid said, as he dropped his bag onto his desk. "Did you have a good weekend?"

JJ jumped at the sound of his voice. "What?"

He frowned. "I asked if you had a good weekend."

"Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, Spence, I just need to make a call," she said before heading out of the bullpen quickly, her phone already at her ear.

 _"Grimley."_

"Hey Grim. It's Jareau. I got your message. What's the word?"

 _"Can you meet for lunch?"_

"11 o'clock?" JJ asked, knowing she wouldn't be able to leave any earlier without people asking too many questions. And she'd probably end up having to take lunch orders regardless.

 _"That's fine. Bruno's at 11."_

"See you then."

* * *

JJ's gaze stayed locked on the entrance of the restaurant, her leg bouncing in nervousness and anticipation, her fingers drumming on the table. Uncertainty and worry oozed out of her as she waited for her contact to show up.

Potential situations flew through her mind. Had Doyle been caught? Taken out? Was Emily safe? Had she been compromised? No, that couldn't be right. The text had said that the case was closed. If she'd been compromised, it wouldn't be closed. No, it had to mean Doyle was no longer a threat to her. Did that mean- Could she-

JJ closed her eyes as her fingers and leg froze at the possibility of seeing her friend again. Could they really put all of this behind them? After all these months of lying and keeping secrets, could they come clean? Could she reunite Emily with her friends? She breathed out a heavy sigh as she began to drum her fingers and shake her leg again. She glanced at her watch. 11:06. He was late.

"Jareau," Grimley said in greeting as he slid into the seat across from the blonde profiler. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic." JJ's eyes met his as she shot him a fierce look. "Right, sorry," he apologized as he pulled a file from his bag and slid it across the table to her.

"Can I…?" JJ trailed off, unsure as to whether or not she could safely open the folder in public.

Grimley nodded and leaned back in his chair. "I'm gonna order something – you want a sandwich?"

JJ didn't answer and instead flipped open the folder, her eyes quickly scanning the contents. Her breath hitched as she realized Doyle was dead. He was really gone.

"Is this… Is he really…"

"Yes," Grimley answered with a nod. "It's confirmed."

JJ let out the breath she'd been holding. She felt tears sting her eyes and blinked quickly to stem the flow. Emily could come home.

"How?"

Grimley shrugged. "Details are a little hazy on exactly how it happened, but I had our guys go in and confirm it. They saw his body with their own eyes. Whoever killed him was pretty angry with him – his chest was full of bullets and there was one right between his eyes."

Thoughts began speeding through JJ's mind faster than she could process. _Who was responsible for-? Had she been the one to-? Did this mean she could-?_

JJ took a quick breath before asking the all-important question. "Can we bring her home?"

"No," Grimley answered succinctly.

The blonde's brow furrowed in confusion. "No?"

Grimley shook his head sadly. And it was then that JJ noticed his expression. It was apologetic, and there was something in the way he was looking at her… No. She couldn't be. No, Doyle was dead. She could come home. She could put all of this behind her. She could come home to her family. We could get her back.

JJ felt her heart drop as her breathing sped up. "No," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Jennifer," he said. "I really am."

"No," JJ repeated, shaking her head. "No. She can't be. She probably just faked-"

"Not this time," he interrupted softly. "It's real."

JJ felt the tears spill over as she stubbornly shook her head. "I don't believe you."

Grimley's expression shifted to one of sympathy as he slid a second folder over to her. JJ hesitated for a moment before opening the folder and flipping through the pages. Her fingers ghosted over a crime scene photo and she felt her heart clench as she recognized the woman in the photos. Recognized the dead body in the photos.

It was Emily.

Deep down she felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Photos could be altered. "Who identified the body?"

"An agent from Interpol."

Easter. It had to be. There were few other people who actually knew her well enough to identify her. And Clyde had to be at the top of Interpol's list to contact if something regarding her came up.

"Easter?" she asked, looking for confirmation.

Grimley let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not even supposed to be telling you this."

"That's a yes then. You have a contact number for him?"

"Jareau, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't give a shit what you think is a good idea. You tell me one of my best friends – a former CIA operative who has faked her death before – is dead and expect me to take that at face value? Grim, please. Don't screw around with me. I need Easter's number. Now."

Grimley's head shook slowly. "You know I can't-"

"Bullshit. You can make it happen."

"I can't-"

"This is my _best friend_ we're talking about, Grim."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've got the number back at my office. I'll text it to you when I get back there."

JJ nodded and tried to get a handle on her breathing. It couldn't be true. Not now that Doyle was no longer a problem. She disappeared once, she could do it again. But…why? If she knew Doyle was dead – and JJ was certain that Emily was keeping tabs on him – then she would know she could come home. There would be no reason for her to disappear. JJ had seen the look of desperation on her face when the jet touched down in Paris. She tried very hard to hide it, and to put on a brave face for JJ's sake, but it was easy to see the cracks in that façade. It had been plain as day – Emily Prentiss didn't want to leave her life behind.

"I've got to get back," Grimley said quietly, clearly noticing that JJ wanted that number sooner rather than later. "I'll be in touch."

JJ just nodded, unable to form any words. It couldn't be… She wouldn't run again, would she? JJ pulled her phone from her pocket hastily and opened up the online scrabble game she had going with Emily. Still no play. It had been weeks since the last play…was her death the reason she wasn't playing anymore? Or was it another calculation to disappear, this time from everyone?

"Can I get you anything, hon?"

JJ blinked in surprise as the waitress interrupted her swirling thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

"Can I get you anything?" she repeated, gesturing to the menu on the table.

"Oh, no, thanks," JJ replied distractedly, her mind still trying to comb through any reasons that Emily would fake her death _again_. "Actually, yes," she said, when she remembered she was supposed to be picking up lunch for the rest of the team. She handed over the small piece of paper that Garcia had given her before she left, containing all the orders for the team.

"It'll be about 30 minutes for all of this," the waitress responded, transferring the orders onto her notepad before handing the list back to the blonde.

"That's fine," JJ replied with a nod, eager to be alone with her thoughts again. Maybe Grim would make good time getting back to the office.

* * *

Her phone chimed just as the waitress brought over the bill for the team's food. She handed over her credit card and shifted her focus back to her phone, using her thumb to unlock the phone. Grim had sent her a message with a name and phone number. Her leg began to bounce, her body trying to rid itself of the nervous energy it had piled up in the minutes since she'd received that text from Grim earlier that day.

The waitress handed her card back to her and had her sign the receipt before she disappeared, leaving JJ with bags of food and a phone number she desperately wanted to call. She walked quickly to her car and stowed the bags of food on the passenger seat. She pressed her thumb to the screen of her phone and listened as it dialed Emily's old team leader.

She heard the click signaling that he'd picked up the call, but he stayed silent – probably wary of the unknown number that showed up on his call display.

"This is Jennifer Jareau of the FBI's BAU," JJ said quietly, the words difficult to get past her lips. This was making everything real, and JJ wasn't entirely sure she wanted it to be real.

Clyde let out a heavy, pained sigh. "I've been waiting for this call, though I admit I thought it would be Agent Hotchner."

"A contact of mine passed along some case files to me this morning," JJ said slowly, still trying to wrap her head around it all.

"I take it they were regarding a certain Irishman that has been a thorn in both our sides?"

"And a brunette we both care about deeply," JJ added, her voice even and calm, though the anxiety and worry was beginning to seep into her tone.

Easter let out another sigh. "What can I do for you, Agent Jareau?" he asked, his tone sad.

JJ felt tears prick at her eyes as images flooded her mind. "You identified the body?"

"I did."

"It was really her?" JJ asked, her voice now shaky and quiet.

"Yes," Easter answered in a voice above a whisper.

"Why should I believe you?"

"I can't give you a reason why, Agent Jareau. At least, nothing that will convince you."

"I want to see her body," JJ replied firmly. Images of another faked death blooming in her mind. Why Emily would do that, she had no idea, but stranger things…

"You can't."

JJ frowned. "What do you mean I can't? Now I'm even less inclined to believe you."

"You can't because I scattered her ashes in the Alps by her grandfather's cabin," Easter replied simply. "She wanted to be cremated. She was never one to enjoy being gawked at, and certainly didn't want that in death."

JJ felt emotions overwhelming her. "Why should I believe you?" she asked, trying desperately to suppress the sob that was sitting in her throat.

"Because for as much as she might have told you I was a pompous British ass, I cared about her. We worked together for years, and she was one of my most trusted friends."

JJ's eyes closed as she contemplated the possibilities. Easter sounded sincere. His tone, his voice, his words…they all seemed genuine. But he was a trained spy, and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he could make all this happen and fake the grieving friend and colleague.

But _why?_ Surely Emily would've known that Doyle was dead and she was free to return home. Surely she would've known that there was no need to run. So why would she disappear again? Why go through all the steps of faking her death again, if the only thing she wanted was to return home to her friends and family?

JJ let out the sob that she'd been holding in and felt the tears sting her cheeks as they fell. "She's really gone?" JJ whispered, praying that he would tell her this was all some sort of sick joke.

"I'm sorry, love," was his soft response.

"Oh god," JJ whispered as she realized her friend was really gone. She was grieving the loss that all of her friends had been grieving for the last 19+ months, and it was overwhelming.

* * *

Easter ended the call, knowing that Jareau didn't have anything more to ask him. "I hope you're happy," he said bitterly, leveling a glare at the brunette sitting across the room from him. She had tears in her eyes and was wiping away the ones that had escaped.

"It's for the best," she whispered before getting up and heading out the door.

* * *

 _And that's where it ends, my friends. Thank you all for a lovely ride - the support and kind words have been wonderful._

 _Feel free to leave me your comments. I'm well aware that this ending may not jive with some folks' hopes. But I don't always write happy endings... :)_


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